


The High Cost of Sleeping In

by Anonymous



Category: Benson (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I guess there's no time like the present, I've been hanging onto this one since Robert Guillaume died, M/M, Singing, Sleepy Cuddles, mentions of bar mitzvahs past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21734116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Benson convinces Clayton to take a frivolous sick day.
Relationships: Benson DuBois/Clayton Endicott III
Collections: Anonymous





	The High Cost of Sleeping In

He listens to Clayton singing in the shower and has to smile.

Clayton sings entirely too high, in a language he doesn't even understand. "Ashira l'adonai ki ga'o ga'a. Mi chamocha ba'elim adonai, mi kamocha ne'edar bakodesh."

"What does that even mean?" he calls to the bathroom. When there's no response, "Hello? What does that mean?"

"Hell if I know," Clayton calls back. "I forgot all my Hebrew the day after my bar mitzvah."

"Huh. I didn't know you had a bar mitzvah." He didn't even know Clayton was Jewish.

"Mmhm." The shower turns off. "At the Temple Beth El on Telegraph. As you do."

He stretches, rubs his feet on the sheets. A yawn pulls through him. "Wish I coulda seen that. Bet you were a little nerd."

Clayton comes out of the bathroom wrapped up in one bath towel and rubbing another over his hair.

He has to smile. Clayton's high maintenance. Benson's tradition is one towel, and it gets used over and over until it can stand up on its own.

"Oh, no more than any other kid. Big ears, comic book collection. I broke my wrist jumping off the porch roof."

"You never told me that." He reaches out his hand and Clayton puts one into his. He turns it over and inspects the wrist. "Nope, wasn't this one."

Clayton laughs. "In fact, it was."

"No!" He presses his lips to the inside of the wrist. "What were you doing on the porch roof anyway?"

Clayton gives a little shuddering sigh and it does his heart good. "I dunno. That was so long ago."

"Come on, darling. Why don't you join me?"

"I'd really love to, but I have to get going. I'm already running late."

"Oh, darling. I can make you feel good..." He runs his tongue lightly across Clayton's wrist. It tastes faintly of soap.

"You always do." Clayton's voice is faint.

"Thank you, that's good to hear."

"Look, Benson, just because you have staff to fill in for you doesn't mean I can call in as well. You know I'm..."

He kisses the inside of Clayton wrist and sucks it lightly. Clayton gasps. "Come on," he teases. "You can tell me all about your mitzvah."

Clayton sighs dramatically but doesn't struggle when Benson pulls him down beside him.

He takes a deep, deep breath. "Ah. You smell so clean."

"Well, you smell... spicy? Is that my aftershave?"

Benson grins.

"You sneaky, sneaky, sneak th..."

His voice drops away as Benson pulls him into a kiss.

"Thief," he finishes when at last they separate.

"But you love me."

"Well, I suppose." Clayton settles his head against Benson's shoulder. "Fine. I'll tell them I'm sick. Will that make you happy?"

"For now." The terrycloth of Clayton's towel scratches against his leg. "What was it you were singing in the bathroom?"

"Achen korim nisim, im na'amin."

"I thought you didn't speak Hebrew." Again he kisses Clayton's wrist.

"I didn't write the song, Benson."

"So what does it mean?"

Clayton sighs. "There can be miracles, when you believe..."

"And you, what, sang it at your Bar Mitzvah?"

"That's... not how Bar Mitzvahs work."

"So then where's it from? Sing it for me." He rolls on top of Clayton and gives his cheek a butterfly kiss. 

Clayton drapes an arm across his forehead and screws up his face in thought. "Li tfilot balev, lo barur im yesh makshiv... I don't know what it means, I learned it phonetically."

"That's fine." He trails kisses down Clayton's neck.

"Harim hadafnu bli sheklal... yada'nu ech lilchom... Achen korim nisim... lama'amin!"

He bites gently at Clayton's collarbone. Clayton yelps. "Go on. Keep singing it."

"I don't think you're even paying attention." Clayton brings his arm down and Benson takes him by the hand and holds it against his cheek.

"I like to hear you sing."

"Yikru harbe nisim lama'amin... er... some how we will... I don't know, Benson, I told you I told you I don't speak any... stop that!"

Benson stops, but he's left, he notices a little proudly, a small hickey on Clayton's wrist.

"Look, do you want me to sing or do you want me to make out with you?"

"Don't see why we can't do both. Wasn't the song a little faster when you sang it in the shower?"

He smells the soap on Clayton's arm and gently pins it down against the bed. He kisses the soft skin where Clayton's neck hollows at the collarbone.

"Get up here," Clayton says.

"I thought you were singing."

"Kiss me again and I will."

So he does. Clayton tastes of the mouthwash, sharp, like alcohol. He runs the fingers of his free hand through Benson's hair and snags in the curls and presses him closer and when they draw away from each other he gives a little sigh of pleasure. True to his word, he sings, half an octave too high and voice cracking--

"Ashira l'Adonai ki ga'o ga'a. Ashira l'Adonai ki ga'o ga'a."

He brushes Clayton's damp hair from his forehead and puts another kiss there.

"Mi chamocha ba'elim, Adonai?"

He kisses under each eye and once on the bridge of the nose.

"Mi kamocha ne'edar bakodesh?"

He runs his hand down over Clayton's belly and strokes at him just above where the towel rests on his waist.

"Excuse me," Clayton says, "this is getting nigh blasphemous."

"I thought you didn't know Hebrew."

"Just a little. Enough to know 'Who is like God?'"

The flesh of Clayton's belly is soft and giving. He easily slips his fingers under the towel. "I'm guessing this wasn't what your parents imagined at your Bar Mitzvah, huh?" He kisses each cheekbone in turn.

"Were they imagining me singing the praise of Adonai while in bed with a black man? I doubt it."

He laughs, and Clayton laughs too.

"Nachita bechasdecha, am zu ga'alta," Clayton sings.

He frees the knot in the towel and spreads it beneath Clayton like wings. "God, you're beautiful."

"I'm also quite cold."

He grins at Clayton and pulls the top sheet over them both. His own stomach presses down against Clayton's as he does so and it feels good. "Better?"

Clayton yawns. "Much."

"Hey, no sleeping on me!"

"Benson," Clayton whines. "I'm tired."

"You were gonna sing to me."

Clayton sighs dramatically. "I don't know any more Hebrew."

"Well, sing something else."

Clayton considers. "Latin? Would Latin work?"

He kisses Clayton's throat, enjoying the nervous bob of his adam's apple. "Latin would be beautiful."

"Okay. Gotta be in the right mindset for this." Clayton takes a few deep breaths, which may have more to do with Benson nuzzling against his neck. "Ready?"

"Ready, captain."

"Di," Clayton sings, hesitantly, his voice still too high. Then again, stronger, "Di... Dies irae, Kyrie, libera me, Domine! Dies irae, Kyrie, requiem da, Domine!"

"What does that mean?"

Clayton grins up at him sleepily. "This day, Lord. Free me, master, this day, Lord. Give me rest, Lord."

Benson laughs. "You little bugger." He wraps Clayton up in a hug and Clayton laughs too. "Fine, I guess we'll sleep your sick day away." He places an almost reverent kiss on Clayton's forehead and rolls off to one side. "Go to sleep, then, if you want to."

And Clayton smiles as he snuggles in beside him and in his too-high voice he sings, "Sanctus, sanctus exultate!"


End file.
